


A House Divided

by Oreana



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Age Difference, Childbirth, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Love, Masturbation, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8906569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oreana/pseuds/Oreana
Summary: Jacob Frye attempts to win back his former wife by reminding her of all the trials and tribulations they went through together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know instantly people are going to get turned off by the subject of Jacob Frye with an OC of mine, and I can understand your protection, love, and devotion of the character, but please be respectful when you comment/ tag/ ect. ♥ 
> 
> To those of you who do support this, I thank you greatly and owe you a lot. You’re very lovely, and I cherish you~.
> 
> I am writing this story because people kept asking again and again about Jacob’s ex-wife and Emmett’s mom in The Fall series, and the more I thought about her, the more she formed. That is not to say this story will have a definite end to it as people are expecting. It doesn’t tie into any reader inserts or anything like that. It will follow my own headcanon of Cecily and Ethan Frye, Jacob and Evie’s childhood, Jack and Emmett’s interactions, and so on, so it won’t be 100% focused on just Jacob and the OC he is with.
> 
> It is basically told mostly in flashback and through letter writing, so be aware that the letter parts are in { } brackets and bolded. 
> 
> Much love to you all~
> 
> Like my content? Shoot me a donation on Ko-Fi~! Every little bit keeps me freed up to produce more! https://ko-fi.com/A4381WZM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am afraid that no more Jacob Frye/Assassin's Creed works will come from me having been harassed out of the fandom for nearly half a year. I've lost my drive and passion for it entirely, but I appreciate the support and love that has come from some of my readers. <3 Thank you all for the fun times, but because of the death threats and other absurd comments thrown my way via Tumblr, I'd rather forget about this fandom entirely. Do not expect anymore updates of these stories.

Another letter from Jacob Frye. 

Lindy would recognize the Rook symbol anywhere given how many years of her life she had spent with the Assassin of London. Jacob always sent his letters with a blank address as well as by Rook and with his gang symbol just to throw Templars from the idea it was a letter of urgency as he never desired to expose Lindy’s whereabouts. 

While the elder woman was appreciative of the gesture in regards to her safety she was getting fed up with her ex-husband trying to reach out to her time and time again. Didn’t he understand that she didn’t want to speak with him anymore? Lindy felt as though Jacob took so much from her in the past several years they knew one another, and her heart quivered in a mixture of sorrow and anger as her hold on the letter she had yet to open tightened to where the delicate envelope wrinkled from her mute aggression. 

Gasping out her anger, Lindy hiked up her gown she was wearing for the evening and hurried over to the nearby fireplace with the idea to feed it to the flames and be done with it like so many of the others he tried to send. Standing there not far from the flickering fire, Lindy outstretched her hand with the thought of just dropping it away in the fire’s gentle light… 

But she stopped for some reason. 

Closing her eyes tightly in a feeble attempt to keep her tears at bay, Lindy was reminded of the loneliness that had engulfed her after all this time of trying to remain a single woman in her early fifties in the cold, cruel embrace of Victorian London. Times with Jacob weren’t grand, but there were indeed moments she missed. 

She missed waking up to him every morning, she missed hearing him call her name, she missed the times they shared in raising their son together, and she missed when he would hold her when she felt sad and alone. 

Lindy expelled another sigh, a shaky one full of sorrow, and she retracted the letter from the fiery fate she had previously destined it for. 

Keeping the letter in her hold, she moved her nightgown out of her way as she drifted over to her nearby reading chair and sat down. The firelight and the nearby oil lamp were enough to give her light, but in her older age, her emerald green eyes had grown weaker, so Lindy fondled about for her reading glasses to put them in place before boldly opening the letter, which was quite longer than she anticipated. 

{ **Lindy,  
**

**I don’t know why I bother to write for the hundredth or so time in such an attempt to reach you and reclaim your heart. I guess I am a bloody fool…a fool still very much in love even if it’s been three years since you left me and denied my letters so much as a passing glance, it seems, as you have not responded but merely a few times of which I can easily count upon my fingers.  
**

**Will this one be different? I can only wonder…  
**

**Do you honestly feel nothing for me anymore? All that time we were together…you still don’t hold a single flame in your heart for me any longer? I was but an infant when you held me for the first time, and yet you can still say you care little for me now?...** } 

**\--Crawley, 1847--**

She was ten then and lived next door to Cecily and Ethan Frye about that time. Her mother, Nellie Jones, was the midwife for Cecily when the woman was found to be pregnant. Lindy, being so young still, was allowed to come to the house now and again to attend the checking in on Cecily Frye. 

The building the married couple lived within always intimidated Lindy as did Ethan himself, for some reason. It wasn’t that he was an off-putting man by any means, he just seemed rather cold in some ways, and she couldn’t exactly place as to why, unknown of his Assassin heritage about this time. Keeping her doll close to her chest in a means to comfort, her eyes watched anxiously as the Frye’s house was coming into view just over the well trimmed shrubbery and iron gate that kept out intruders. 

“Keep up, Lindy,” Nellie insisted, moving her basket full of medical equipment upon the bend of her arm before reaching down to grab at her daughter’s hand and urge her along at a speedier pace. 

Lindy nearly stumbled forward, but she caught herself in time to keep at the speed her mother demanded. She knew admitting that she didn’t want to be there would be pointless as there was no other person to care for her back at home, and Lindy had to admit that the Frye’s home was a lot more comfortable than her own full of nothing but silence without her mother nearby. 

Coming upon the front door, Nellie knocked and waited for either Ethan or George to answer. Her gray-green eyes looked down upon her daughter standing there beside her, and Nellie couldn’t help but sigh disapprovingly at a few wrinkles there in Lindy’s attire. Squatting down to her daughter’s level, Nellie began to do her best to fix the problem before the door opened. 

It was Ethan, and at his appearance, Nellie straightened and Lindy stiffened with her grasp upon her doll tightening, burying her face into the fake hair of the toy. He was an average looking man with his brown hair parted from the left side to give way to some sort of sideways bangs upon the right. A small bit of a beard could be seen about his face but it seemed that hint of one had become a bit more obvious in the coming days—as though Ethan had little time or care to focus on his appearance. His eyes were a hazel green and in them both Lindy and Nellie could see he was looking worried. 

“Nellie,” breathed Ethan with relief as he stood aside to usher her in. “It is good to see you.” 

“Your tone carries urgency, Mr. Frye,” Nellie pointed out in concern as she entered into the home at his command. “Whatever is the matter?” 

“It is Cecily,” said Ethan without restraint, closing the door behind them and urging Nellie onward to his bedroom just up the stairs. “She’s been so bloody ill lately that it’s been difficult to keep her fed!” 

“It is the sickness that triggers when she’s pregnant, Mr. Frye,” Nellie said in an attempts to sooth. 

Ethan instantly shook his head at Nellie’s response. “She is the thinnest expecting woman I’ve ever seen!” He was trying to be quiet as he didn’t wish to rouse worry in his spouse as he hurried with the midwife to where Cecily was resting. “Shouldn’t her illness have stopped by now! She is nearly seven months along!” 

Lindy had taken her time to look about the house yet again as her mother and Ethan’s conversation blurred into the background of her mind. Not much had changed, but she was always interested in the little trinkets and decorative hallways and rooms that the house contained. The Fryes did well for themselves but she never understood what it was they did exactly. Whenever she tried to go into Ethan’s study out of curiosity of what books he read, Ethan or her mother would scold her. Because of that, it only prompted Lindy’s curiosity further as she stood there at the foot of the nearby staircase staring down the hallway at the door that led to Ethan’s study. 

“Lindy!” came her mother’s voice urgently, prompting her to snap her attention to her mother. “Come now!” 

Hurrying behind her mother and Ethan Frye, the three of them ventured to the upper part of the house where the bedroom was at the very end of the left divide of the corridor. Ethan’s movements were quicker as he passed the oil lamps and painted pictures hanging on the walls to make it to his wife’s side before anybody. 

The door swung open and it was there George Westhouse turned from the resting Cecily to his mentor and friend, Ethan. 

“How is she?” Ethan asked, hurrying to take the chair, which was at his wife’s bedside, George left available for him. 

“Not gotten further ill, Ethan,” said George sounding as relaxed as he could as he didn’t desire to stir up further worry in his friend. “She appears to be resting all right.” 

**{…There’s not a single relic left of my mum’s that I can remember from my time at my father’s house back in Crawley. Everything of hers was either done away with by my father’s own devices upon her passing or he, perhaps, kept some of them close to his broken heart in secret—possibly out of greed and spite as he blamed me the most for my mum’s death.  
**

**I know nothing of her…I never knew her warmth, I never knew her face…not a single damn photograph for me to keep…it is but a ghost I think back to whenever I try to place a mother figure in my life.  
**

**You lost your father when but a small girl at the age of eight in a factory mishap. I envied you for that but not in the sense you imagine when I write those words. I envied you for being able to know your father long enough to have something of his to treasure in your heart, mind, and soul. You had pleasurable stories to go back to whereas all I had was your word that I looked nearly like her when it came to the features her legacy bestowed upon my face, and my sister’s own ‘beauty’ was but a constant reminder of what she looked like.  
**

**But I would have no reason to doubt your word, now would I? Not once have you ever lied to me in terms of spitefulness…}**

She was frail. Cecily Frye was a young woman, nineteen years of age compared to her twenty-two year old husband. Her skin often reminded Lindy of a porcelain doll with rosy cheeks to draw further attention to the many freckles of which she had dotting the bridge of her nose and continued upon her cheeks. Her usual braided, brown colored hair that would twine about her head and stay from her sight was loose and wavy, framing her thinned face from where she was resting. Her arms were lying at her sides beyond the covers and, from what Lindy could see, they were nearly that of a skeleton’s and hardly that of a pregnant woman’s. 

“Cecily,” called Ethan gently, his hand upon her rosy cheeks to try and wake her, he found his wife’s hazel eyes staring upon him in time. Just the sight of her looking at him was a relief and he smiled that reprieve before finding his hand within hers to hold it reassuringly. “Nellie is here, so I am hoping we will get some answers, love.” 

Nellie took to the task at hand, doing her best to look over Cecily’s obvious signs and find the problem that could be occurring within her. Realizing she would have to do more, she turned to Ethan and George. “Mind if we are alone, gentlemen?” Nellie asked, as she knew that men seeing a woman unclothed in certain ways might be embarrassing for Cecily. 

Ethan was hesitant to move, but it was George that took to his shoulders and urged him onward knowing that this was best for the time being. “We’ll be just outside the door, madam,” said George, finally able to convince his friend to leave the women in peace. 

“Cecily,” sighed Nellie as she moved to her basket to unwrap her cleaned medical utensils, “I know this is a daft question to ask given the circumstances, but how are you feeling?” 

Cecily stifled her laugh behind her lips, which seemed to have also lost a bit of color. “Chills keep a firm hold upon me, Nellie,” she whispered in a rather labored breath. “Hardly able to keep my food down as I once did, and I feel just as hot as I do cold if my sweating says anything…” 

Nellie moved the covers of the bed out of her way followed by Cecily’s gown to see if anything visually was out of sorts. “Let me purify my hands, my dear,” said Nellie with a concerned sigh. “I don’t think what has you is anything in regards to your pregnancy, but I would rather be safe for your sake and the child’s.” 

As her mother left for the washroom not far away, Lindy turned her attention to Cecily as the woman was soon gazing upon her. She was never sure what to say around Cecily. Like Ethan, there was something that always felt a bit unnerving about her but in that moment, Cecily did appear weak and, almost, approachable. “You don’t look so good,” said Lindy quietly between them, keeping her toy close to her chest. 

Cecily stifled her laugh and merely smiled. “I know, sweetheart. I am hoping it will be over soon, or I will need new floors given how often my husband has been pacing.” 

She was trying to make light of the situation but Lindy wasn’t quite sure what the joke meant and merely stared at her with a blank expression until her mother finally returned to check over the ill Cecily Frye. 

“Now then,” began Nellie as she took out what she needed, “let’s get started.” 

The two women conversed over topics Lindy cared little over at that age, so she merely sat and watched while using a brush Cecily allowed her to use for her doll’s hair. It was a bit frightening to watch the state Cecily was in. Would that be her someday? She was destined to be a wife to somebody and to give birth to many children depending how the husband felt, so Lindy couldn’t help but tremble at the nightmare playing in her mind. 

“Have your husband and you discussed names yet?” Nellie asked, hoping to change the topic back to the pregnancy in a different light. 

“We are backwards people—my husband and I,” Cecily chuckled. “I want a boy like him and he wants a girl like me, so we chose our names based on our desired child.” Cecily flinched and tried to stay the urge to be ill once more as Nellie worked on trying to fix her hair into a braid to keep it out of Cecily’s way given how long it was. Nellie didn’t want the hair to cause problems in the coming weeks when it came to checking in on her regularly. “I want to name the son Jacob, and he’ll name the daughter Evie.” 

“Biblical names, I notice,” Nellie pointed out finally able to braid and place the last piece of Cecily’s tresses. 

“We want the people of London to be free from Templar control,” explained the ill Cecily. “The names will carry the meaning of freedom when he or she becomes old enough to take to the field with us.” 

A lot of what Cecily expressed was gibberish to Lindy. Unlike her mother at the time, she had little knowledge of the Assassins and Templars and was left in the dark of the origins of the secret war. Nellie was told nearly everything with how closely she worked with the Frye family, but given the horrors of it all, she kept it from her daughter in hopes she wouldn’t need to know any of it. 

When everything was cleaned and put back into place, Nellie took to her feet with her hands folded before her apron. “Do you fancy anything to eat, Mrs. Frye? I can see if there is something I can make for you, perhaps?” 

Cecily cringed at the thought. On the one hand she desired food but on the other she worried agitating her stomach. “Do you think I can handle food?” she asked nervously. “What has me, Miss. Nellie…?” 

Nellie’s brow wrinkled in worry before turning to gaze down at her feet while her fingers fondled with her attire. “It could be an illness, my dear,” she answered reluctantly when finding the courage to look upon Cecily’s hazel eyes. “I would gladly grant you medicine for this treatment, but I worry what outcome it could have on your child.” 

“Is it deadly?” she asked a bit panicked over the thought she could lose her child and lose her husband in this moment she was supposed to treasure. 

Again, Nellie was nearly reluctant to answer. “I don’t know as to me it seems as though it is a common fever of sorts. What we can do is keep a watch on it and fight it with food and water. It could come out of you in time.” 

Cecily tried to find comfort in that but it was hard given how much weight she had already lost with this illness she had. 

“I will speak with your husband now before departing.” Nellie leaned forwards then with a worried frown. “Are you sure there is nothing else you need from me?” 

She managed a smile upon her weary face before waving away the thought. “I will be fine. I swear it.” It was a lie that brought a bit of false calm to the young Assassin. “Thank you for your time here, Miss. Nellie.” 

Turning to her daughter, Nellie motioned to Lindy who was still sitting there playing with her doll. “Come on, dear. Put the comb back and let’s be on our way.” 

Lindy took to her feet, placing the decorative comb upon the nightstand nearest Cecily’s bed. Her green eyes looked over the fragile woman’s face once more with a curtsy to her. “Thank you for letting me use your hairbrush, Mrs. Frye.” 

Cecily fixed herself upon the bedcovers, hoping to get comfortable before nodding to Lindy’s thanks. “It is my pleasure, dear.” 

Hurrying to her mother’s side, she took her by the hand and exited the room to where Ethan and George were conversing in private. The conversation with them quickly ceased as Ethan approached Nellie. 

“How is she?” he asked, his eyes searching the midwife for some sort of good news. 

Nellie explained everything once more, discussing that Cecily was sick with some illness she couldn’t place. Ethan didn’t accept the news well but Nellie expected it—Lindy didn’t, however, and quickly hid behind her mother’s gown when Ethan accidentally erupted. 

“What do you mean she’s bloody ill!” Ethan exclaimed, his voice rattling in aggression all through the halls. George even tried to calm him with his hands upon his shoulders, but it did little good as the Assassin shrugged away his friend’s help, his eyes glaring at Nellie as though she were responsible for it all. “Can you not just give her something! What about the baby!” 

“The baby will be fine,” Nellie responded calmly as she was used to such outbursts from husbands; especially, when delivery rarely went well. During this time, it was as though pregnancy was nearly an assured death sentence for most women. “The illness she has is from infection most likely, water contamination or something of that sort, causing a fever within her. If I give her medicine, there is no guarantee **_that_** won’t harm the baby as it has to go into her blood and her system to flush out the problem…” 

Ethan recoiled back and seemed to lose all energy to stand as he rest his back against the nearby wall for support with his head buried in his hands. “So she’s just going to get worse?” 

“We don’t know for sure, Mr. Frye,” insisted Nellie with her fingers intertwined before her gown. “As I said: food and drink may aid her recovery.” 

Silence. 

Lindy poked her head out from behind her mother to watch Ethan and George closely. George had come upon Ethan once more to try and settle his friend though it seemed Ethan was already aware of the severity of things and couldn’t help but be fretful. Slowly, the man lowered his hands from his face and did his best to regain his composure. “Miss. Jones—.” 

“Please, Mr. Frye…call me Nellie, if you must call me anything,” she gently interrupted as she cringed from the pain that erupted within her heart at its sound. Her last name, as well as her daughter, were the two main things her husband left in his passing and while she still raised Lindy with pride and joy, the last name still inflicted harm upon her. 

“Nellie,” Ethan corrected with a slow in and outward breath, “I know it is horrid of me to bring up the past, so forgive me, but it is crucial I know—you live alone with your daughter, yes?” 

Lindy looked up at her mother then to notice as she flinched and bowed her head at Ethan’s question. “I do.” 

“Then please, may I ask if you both move here as Cecily prepares to give birth?” 

Nellie opened her mouth as if to instantly disagree to the thought, but Ethan was quick to disrupt her worries. 

“Nellie, I beg of you!” the man hissed through his teeth, grabbing at her hands in desperation. “Cecily is in need of aid, and you’re the only woman I can trust in this right now!” Ethan sighed, his chest hurting as his heart beat rapidly. He could handle any pain life dealt him but not this…the very fear of losing his wife was overwhelming. “I have rooms for you both and payment won’t be necessary.” 

Nellie’s eyes narrowed, remembering Ethan’s heritage, which she kept quiet to her daughter. “You promise me and my daughter’s safety?” 

“With my life.” 

She was concerned for the man. Nellie knew he was asking of such a thing incase she knew a means of which to cure Cecily of this illness his wife had somehow contracted, but Nellie feared there would be nothing she could do. She didn’t wish to tell this man that the chances of his wife surviving weren’t good. 

Her hands clasped upon the basket she held with a steady breath to make her decision in the matter. “Very well,” answered Nellie, gazing upon Ethan then. “I just need to retrieve a few of mine and Lindy’s belongings, and we will remain here with you and Cecily during the rest of her pregnancy.” 

Lindy couldn’t help but instantly hate the idea, being uprooted from home only to live in a place that felt of death. She tugged at her mother’s dress in attempts to get her attention, but Nellie merely moved the fabric from her daughter’s hold. “Mum…” 

“Come on, Lindy,” sighed Nellie, grabbing at her daughter’s hand and escorting her to the nearby staircase. “We must get home and pack up our belongings.” 

Looking from her mother down the hall to Ethan and George with a worried look, Lindy was soon urged down the stairs and out the door where she would return a day later to live under the same roof of Ethan and Cecily Frye for the next two months.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say on this chapter. =) Just focuses on Ethan and Cecily now and again as Lindy and Nellie move into their home to aid Cecily with her pregnancy.

**{Westminster | February, 18, 1888}**

 

Lindy lowered the letter for a moment, thinking back on that time she was forced to live in Jacob’s home before he was even born. She could still remember the fear of packing up and moving to such a location with the very few items she had to spare. A part of her loved that old house as it had mentions and a few pieces remaining of her deceased father. Closing her eyes, Lindy inhaled slowly before releasing it again in a soft sigh, turning her focus back to the lengthy letter her former husband had sent her. 

“I never was fond of that place. It felt like death was trying to choke the life from me in every room I ventured to,” she whispered to herself, still remembering the chill that would run up and down her spine just being near it. “Your father never liked or approved of me either being near you as frequent as I was in our youth.” 

But Lindy knew she was getting ahead of herself in that regard, her mind forced to play back to the moment she was soon being shown to her new bedroom by Ethan Frye upon their arrival the following day.

 

**{Crawley | September 28, 1847}**

 

Ethan had aided Nellie in moving her luggage to the bedroom on the upper floor just down the hall from where Cecily was resting. For a man who did well for himself, he didn’t seem to care much for servants, Lindy noticed, and a part of her found that odd given the people her mother had acted as a midwife to before who lived in such lodgings. It seemed this George Westhouse was the only other man who frequented the home now and again and practically lived there to aid Ethan with his sick wife. 

“I am sure I don’t need to remind you of much, Miss. Nellie,” said Ethan as he assisted her with the last of her belongings in the room designated for her. 

Nellie turned to Ethan with her hands folded before her gown, shaking her head at his words. “I know keeping from your study is the most important.” Here, her eyes turned to her daughter as if to pass that warning onto Lindy as well. 

Lindy felt the gaze of her mother, causing her to grip onto her doll a bit tighter as the look was almost accusing. Of course she often spent times staring at that door; the young girl couldn’t help but be curious what Ethan was so intent to keep locked behind it. When the look of her mother became too intimidating for her, she moved her green eyes to Ethan, knowing that this room wouldn’t be hers as well given the one bed that was within it. 

Ethan had more he wanted to tell Nellie in private but the sights of one so young upon him made him remember that it was wise to remove Lindy first. “I’ll speak of more in a moment,” he said quietly, motioning to Lindy then with a wave of his hand. “Come, Lindy.” The Assassin moved forward, heading towards the doorway. “I need to show you to your bedroom.” 

She didn’t like the thought of being without her mother in a house that unnerved her so, but looking from Ethan back to her mom, Lindy witnessed her mother urge her onward. With a mouthed ‘go on’ from her, Lindy hesitantly found her feet and began to move forward, reluctantly following behind Ethan who ventured out of the room and just to another bedroom across the hall, diagonally from her mother’s. 

The toy she carried was her only comfort in the matter, and keeping it close to her chest, she ventured into the new room she would be staying within till…well…she wasn’t sure exactly when she and her mother would be allowed to leave. It was a room like any other. Lindy didn’t notice anything special with it beyond the scale of it—had a bed that felt a bit too big for one her size with a storage trunk at the foot of it and curtains draped in an ‘M’ style above the headrest on the wall just above a painting of some sort, a small bookcase to the left of entering the bedroom, a vanity on the opposite wall of the bed to the right, and two windows just ahead reverse of the door they entered. 

It was intimidating. Lindy was used to a smaller room back home, and this one felt as though it would swallow her whole if the bed alone didn’t do so first. 

Ethan moved her belongings into the room closer to the trunk at the foot of the bed. “Here is where you’ll be sleeping, Lindy,” said Ethan calmly, his hand over his mouth in idle thought as he wasn’t sure what he should say to her in private. In the end, however, he did have to remember this was his home, and she was a guest, so his words would be justified. “Lindy,” his tone began as a warning, catching the child’s attention, “I don’t want you near my study; you understand me?” With her having tried several times before, Ethan was worried just telling her ‘no’ would only ignite her curiosity further, but he was demanding her absent from such a room given the truth of his identity that lay beyond that door. 

This child was young and, the very thought of exposing her to the Creed, frightened him in comparison to his own child who would become part of it regardless. Besides, it was not just he who wanted her from such a fate, but her own mother too as Nellie had begged of such a thing in private to Ethan on many occasions. If anything, he was returning a favor to the midwife he trusted. 

Lindy caught onto the sternness in Ethan’s tone, causing her to nearly bury her face into the hair of her doll to find comfort there. 

Ethan sighed at the girl’s pose, falling to one knee before her to look less intimidating in the matter. “I want to hear you say it, my dear,” he whispered, trying not to be so stern the second time. “Will you promise to remain from there?” 

Too scared to find her tongue around Ethan, Lindy nodded though her shifting eyes of one so innocent showed uncertainty when it came to her future actions. 

He supposed he could make do with that. Honestly, with the way she was acting, Ethan had a feeling she would find her way into his study regardless, and a part of him had to prepare for that moment. “Good girl,” he grunted, taking back to his feet, motioning about the space that was now hers. “Stay here, Lindy. I need to speak with your mum in private.” As Ethan took his leave of the bedroom, he shut the door behind him before venturing back to where Nellie was waiting for him. 

Nellie was already unpacking her belongings by the time Ethan returned to the room she was given. Mindful of the pocket watch belonging to her husband that she kept with her, her eyes shifted upon Ethan when she placed it absentmindedly on the bed. “How is Lindy taking to her room?” 

“A bit nervous, but that’s to be expected,” explained Ethan, shutting the door behind him to keep his words from traveling about the halls. “You have nothing to fret about, Miss. Nellie. Templars may be our enemies, but they have their own oath to take in regards to fighting us Assassins. They wouldn’t march in here and murder a pregnant Assassin or her midwife and daughter.” 

“Human beings can hardly stay blood from their hands because of a simple oath, Mr. Frye,” sighed Nellie, her fingers clutching upon the decorative bedcovers of the bed she was sitting upon. “A rubbish document they are asked to sign or quote they speak before their superior only holds so much water to me.” Her eyes hardened as she turned to the Assassin. “You’ve not had the pleasure of working in a mill or a factory job, have you, Mr. Frye?” 

“George has,” Ethan answered, thumbing over his shoulder to where George was probably in Cecily’s room making sure she was alright on Ethan’s behalf. “He worked at a mill for most of his life till he decided to become one of us. As for myself, I was a schoolmaster and that entailed me just becoming a private teacher for younger and or illiterate Assassins joining our ranks.” 

“Are there really anymore of you about?” Nellie questioned, as she only saw the few in that very house. 

Ethan smirked as his hazel green eyes shifted down to the hidden blade he had to eject it from the mechanism, letting it lay back to rest shortly after as he searched Nellie’s face. “Even I cannot tell you some things about the Creed, Miss. Nellie—forgive me for that.” 

“As I was saying,” Nellie sighed, turning her attention fully to Ethan, “simple words will not stop somebody from acting out of line should they so desire, Mr. Frye. The factory work my husband did day in and day out since we were betrothed proved how horrible people can be when not watched closely.” 

While he knew George would better sympathize in such a situation, Ethan nodded in understanding as her words did hold water given the dark underworld of London and its desire to progress on the backs of men, women, and children. “All I can give you is my word that you and your daughter will be safe. I hate to ask of you to do more, Miss. Nellie, but my mum won’t be here to help with the housework with Cecily so ill till the beginning of next month. Could I ask of you to prepare dinner about five this evening?” 

“Whatever helps you and Cecily both,” said Nellie without a second thought on the matter. She certainly didn’t mind the extra work given her own inward battle she was having in regards to Cecily’s illness. A part of her couldn’t help but worry…did she pass this illness onto the expecting mother unknowingly by not cleaning her hands and utensils properly? Nellie dared not say as Ethan would no doubt be furious at the idea. 

**{I can only imagine what that man had to go through. You, more than anybody, would understand my fear when it came to your confession that you were pregnant those many years ago with our son, Emmett. I didn’t want to become like him…I didn’t want to become like my father, blame my own son for taking a woman I loved just because he was born and then do everything in my power just to try and make myself love him; and yet, now look at us:  
**

**I blame Emmett for causing our love to dwindle like a flame struggling to stay as bright as the moment it was lit in the harsh, wintery gales of London.  
**

**You always got onto me about my emotions towards my father, and perhaps—in truth—that is why I didn’t want to ever become like him…I didn’t want to understand him, and I wanted to keep resenting and loathing him for all the things he said and did to me…}**

Dinner was quiet especially with Ethan and Cecily’s absence from the table. George joined and did his best to keep the conversation flowing seeing how nervous the two appeared. The Assassin in training nodded towards the doll Lindy had in her arms with a smile. “Hardly seen anywhere without that one, love. Is she your favorite?” 

Lindy looked at the handmade doll George was talking about, causing her to hold it all the more as it was indeed a precious gift to her. It was a simple porcelain doll, which had a hand sewn dress and long, curly brown hair only kept back and out of the doll’s face with a simple bow clipping the two main strands of hair near either side of the face backward behind the head in a little braid. “My father bought it for me for Christmas one year, and my mum sometimes makes the dresses.” 

Nellie smiled briefly at the mention of her deceased husband, pushing about a few mushrooms on her plate before deciding to eat some. “He bought it because he said it reminded him of Lindy,” Nellie said quietly to George. “Spent quite the packet on that toy, and I about scolded him for it.” 

George stifled his soft laugh at the thought, clearing what he could off of his plate with a shrug of his brow and shoulders at the mention of money. “I suppose when it comes to one’s children, a shilling or two for their happiness is an afterthought.” 

“At ‘times’, Mr. Westhouse,” Nellie corrected with a gentle laugh to follow as she could see the humor in the comment. “Children of your own at all?” she asked in a slight hope of changing the conversation’s direction. 

“Sadly, no,” George admitted, his eyes indirectly going towards the left doorway, which would lead out into the hallway where the staircase to upstairs was. He couldn’t help but think about Ethan and what he was going through right now, and it caused George to let his food digest as he idly crumpled his napkin in his hand. “Always wanted to be a father but with work at the mill and now helping Ethan, I’ve just not had the time to really look for a woman who would tolerate me.” He was joking as he spoke, a smile obvious in that regard when his brown eyes looked to Nellie. 

“You’re still young, Mr. Westhouse,” explained the midwife, finishing her own plate before turning to Lindy to try and urge her to eat more. “Don’t dawdle, sweetheart,” she whispered in a gentle scolding, wanting to wash the dishes as soon as possible. 

“You can call me, ‘George’, if it’s alright with you, Miss. Nellie,” the Assassin corrected as he, again, shrugged his brow at the thought of being young. “For now, I suppose, that is indeed true. I can only imagine how old I am going to be when a young woman is going to have to be sold to me or I pay her for her time.” 

The comment was ambiguous enough that Nellie and George both knew Lindy wouldn’t understand what was just implied. 

“Have faith in it all, George,” whispered Nellie as she took to her feet then and moved the dishes to her side of the table to work on cleaning up the mess. Turning to Lindy and her own plate of food, she motioned towards the small bit of potatoes left on it. “Are you done, honey? You really should eat more.” 

Lindy still felt suffocated by the atmosphere in that home and, given such a change in scenery, her stomach didn’t feel like adjusting as she so desired to. “I’m finished,” she whispered, inching the plate forward gently with her fingertips. 

Nellie couldn’t help but sigh at what a waste the food would go to. She knew it wasn’t her food or her home and Ethan would be fine with it either way, but given how she was born and raised, she really wished this wouldn’t have to be so. “Alright then,” Nellie said, trying to hide her disappointment in the matter. “Go upstairs and bathe then. You should prepare for settling in for the night.” 

Settling in for the evening for Nellie was basically calming the mind by relaxing in bed with reading and then lights were out at nine at night. She felt allowing Lindy to be up and about playing with her toys till then only got her excited and difficult to put down to sleep, so such a schedule was put into effect for her when she turned six. 

“I’ve never bathed here before,” Lindy whispered nervously to her mother.

“It’s just a lavatory like any other,” Nellie said gently in return, seeing that as an excuse on her daughter’s behalf. Spying the uncertain look in her daughter’s eyes, Nellie sighed with a shake of her head thinking she would have to bathe her daughter for the first time in awhile. “Just go on up there, and I will help you in a moment.” 

Lindy excused herself from the table and hurried out into the hallway with nervousness guiding her step. She was already told not to go to Ethan’s study but what else was she not allowed to do? Was that all there was to this house? She never felt comfortable going into Cecily and Ethan’s bedroom to begin with even with her mother, so she knew to stay away from that room; especially, out of respect. 

Upon her mind thinking about the study, her head turned and she saw the door that always mocked her in terms of what could be behind it. Standing just near the staircase as she was looking at it, she felt even doing that might be against the rules, but she couldn’t deny her curiosity. What was behind the door that was so against the rules of anybody seeing in this house? 

Lindy could hear her mother and George moving about in the kitchen, and it was there she noticed their absence from the dining room she had just come from. Ethan was with Cecily, possibly trying to get her to eat in private as the woman was too weak to move from the bed, so it just left her standing there staring at the mysterious door. She could just open the door, look inside, and then close it like nothing happened, right? She wouldn’t have to walk all the way inside and look about. Did he keep some animal back there? Why was it so important she stay away? 

As she kept thinking of ways to just sedate the curiousness within her, Lindy hadn’t realized her feet were already moving down the small corridor to the room’s door, as if it were beckoning to her. Soon, she was upon it, and the doorknob was just within reach as well. The sounds about her fading into the background, Lindy took a deep breath as she attempted to break the rules on the very first day. 

Just as her fingers landed on the doorknob, a hand halted her by grabbing at her wrist. 

Her heart in her throat, Lindy spun around to see George standing there with a disapproving look. It wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought it would be compared to what her own mother and Ethan could have said or did. “Upstairs, princess,” George instructed in a stern yet calm tone. “That’s where the lavatory is.” 

Upon her wrist being released, Lindy stepped backward with her nose nearly buried in the hair of her doll she held. “Yes, sir,” she whispered bashfully, turning on her heels and hurrying to the staircase to head to the bathroom as she promised she would earlier. 

George stood back to attention with a nasally sigh of relief at that being avoided. He knew Lindy being exposed to the Creed wouldn’t necessarily put her in danger, but it was indeed better to be safe than sorry when it came to one so young. Another reason having a child was difficult for him to even imagine having—the thought of them having to be so young when they took to the field and attended their first blooding… 

Ethan remained with Cecily while the others were free to eat downstairs. While he knew Nellie would have been fine to aid his wife in eating, Ethan wanted to spend every moment he could with Cecily. He was relieved to see her eat a bit of rice at the very least and manage to drink milk without getting sick, but Ethan still remained on his toes in the matter. 

The plate put on the nearby nightstand, he wrinkled his brow in worry as he caressed Cecily’s forehead to realize how warm she was. “I wish I knew what had you,” he said softly in regret. “I would take you to a doctor, but they are miles from here, and all of them are absolute rubbish.” 

Cecily managed a breathless chuckle at his concerns. “You say that about all doctors, love. Sometimes, I just feel you think they are not good enough for me.” 

Hearing the humor in her words, he scoffed playfully, a cocky, sideways grin upon his lips as he shrugged his brow. “What can I say? I only want the very best for you.” 

As he attempted to lean in to kiss her, Cecily was quick to redirect his lips away from her own. “I don’t need you ill…should anything happen to me.” 

“Cecily,” Ethan scolded with a sigh and roll of his eyes at her words. He reclined back on the chair he was sitting upon, giving her a look that expressed his hurt in what she had to say in the situation. 

“The baby will need you,” Cecily insisted, a violent cough overtaking her after she spoke such words. 

“The baby will need **_you_** as well!” Ethan said in a low, scolding tone as he leaned forwards then with his hand upon her back to try and settle her fit. “Did you fancy more milk?” 

Cecily waved away the thought. “I am fine, dear.” 

Ethan took his hands to the one nearest to him, bringing it to his lips to kiss her knuckles, locking himself in silent prayer that Cecily would live through this. She had killed countless targets in her youth, and now…seeing her as this…it was more than he could stomach. Cecily was battling against an enemy he couldn’t face, and he was powerless to do anything to make her feel better beyond stay at her bedside. “The worst of this illness is that I am unable to even kiss upon you and love you in ways I wish I could.” The very thought ached his heart more than he could express. 

Knowing what he was vaguely commenting of, Cecily’s chest restricted from the laugh that nearly agitated her coughing again. “One as clever as you? Oh, I am surprised you’ve not found ways,” she whispered teasingly. 

The Assassin cocked his brow to her playfulness. “I do have ways,” he spoke softly with a sly smile. “Are they tactful?” Ethan shrugged his shoulders, his mouth dipping into a minor frown before it recomposed into a smile. “I would hardly say.” 

Cecily chuckled to herself, relieved to see that side of him again as she moved her hand about his own touch to hold his hand supportively in a mute manner of saying everything would be okay. “Keep such musings to yourself for now, love,” she pleaded with her own weary smirk. “Perhaps, in time, I will have the energy to fulfill them for you.” 

Ethan stifled a laugh at the thought, moving to kiss her forehead, which was balmy to the touch of his lips. At least there were places he could, indeed, still kiss her. “For right now, just focus on getting better, my bride,” he pleaded. “Soon the both of us will have a screaming child in our arms to deal with, and we’ll both need all the energy we can manage for that one.” 

Or at least Ethan hoped so. He could only pray that all of his future plans weren’t to be fairy tales in the end.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much for this one—just brought in the twin’s grandmother and Ethan’s mom as the story flows onward.

**{Crawley | October 22, 1847}**

 

Living at the Frye’s home remained unnerving for Lindy. Time and time again she would find herself back to her mother’s side just to find comfort from the dreariness that shrouded the home; not to mention the door that taunted her every morning and evening in passing in regards to Ethan’s study. 

Cecily never appeared to be getting any better. As far along as she was becoming, it seemed impossible to even move her from the bed as of late even in regards to a bath. 

“We need to at least wash you, Mrs. Frye,” Nellie insisted, trying to urge Cecily to sit upright, but the woman was heavy and near impossible to move from where she lay upon the intricate covers. 

Cecily gasped softly as Nellie’s arm moved underneath the back of her neck and tried to prop the pregnant woman upright. Every part of her felt weighed down by iron, and her stomach churned at the mere thought of being anywhere beyond her side. “Please, please,” she whispered with much strain, “just leave me be, Miss. Nellie…” 

Hearing such a frail tone from the expecting mother, Nellie frowned and relented for a moment. “What if I get your husband in here to aid in this matter? Will that raise your spirits a bit?” 

Thinking of the man she loved, Cecily was reminded of the tired and fretful expressions Ethan harbored as of late and her brow furrowed at the mention. It almost brought her to tears, really. A moment in their lives that was supposed to be wrought with happiness was clouded in misery and worries all because her body appeared unfit at the ability to give birth as intended, or so it seemed. How she wished she never brought such despair on the man she loved. 

Her lower lip trembled in Cecily’s ill attempt to form any words, and it was there she spoke. “I’ll manage.” Again, it was practically a faint whisper. 

Nellie felt equally pained by the scene. What if it **_was_** her fault? What if she had gotten Cecily ill unknowingly in the progress of checking in on her, and she had damned the woman and, quite possibly, the child? Her guilty heart thumped loudly in her chest, and she was worried the expecting mother would hear it. “Alright then,” Nellie sighed out her own despair, “let’s try this again, shall we?” 

Lindy watched the scene from a nearby chair, keeping her doll close to her chest as her mother was finally able to at least get Cecily to sit upright, her legs slowly coming over the bedside in time with Nellie’s aid. The woman appeared weak, and even as Lindy watched, she couldn’t help but wonder if Cecily’s thin legs would even be able to keep her upright as the woman moved. 

Nellie herself couldn’t help but be concerned at the weight she could feel in the Assassin’s swollen belly. _She seems a bit heavy there…for a woman expecting just one child_ , the midwife thought to herself. Nellie hadn’t thought of the prospects of Cecily having two. Twins were rare and nearly unheard of, and especially, now more than ever, she didn’t want to believe it as the birth could actually kill the woman. 

“Are you alright?” Nellie asked, trying to keep Cecily upright as she ventured towards the bedroom door to head out to the hallway where the washroom was. “Will you be able to make it?” 

Cecily thought she could, but as she stood there hunched over with her hand upon her stomach, she gasped as the desire to be ill crept upon her and shook her head feverishly. “N-No,” she managed to spurt out, coughing and almost threatening to vomit on the floor. 

The midwife stood firm and did her best to keep the mother to be on her feeble legs. 

Standing there, hunched over, the woman panted heavily, brown-green hazel eyes shifting about at the pains assaulting her. “Take me back…!” Cecily demanded, not finding the energy to stand much longer and nearly collapsing to the floor only to catch herself on one knee at least before her left palm smashed to the floorboards shortly after. 

The sound of her nearly falling was abrupt and it caught the attention of Ethan on the other side of the door, as the man pushed it open without a second thought, spying his wife there on one knee and merely Nellie and Cecily’s own hand in accordance with her knee to prevent herself from smashing into the floorboards. 

“What’s all this then!” Ethan exclaimed, jogging to his wife’s side as he grabbed at her arm to try and get Cecily to look at him. 

Even if his face was often wrinkled in fearful concern, Cecily smiled at the sight of it. “Ethan…” she praised with delight at just being able to see him even if, moments ago, she was dreading it. But pain caused her stomach discomfort, and the Assassin woman flinched before urging her husband away to where she lost what meager contents she had within her stomach on the floor. 

“Dear God,” Ethan swore in worry, digging feverishly in his pockets for his handkerchief. Upon finding it, he moved it to Cecily’s mouth to try and aid his wife in cleaning up her face. “Are you alright?” 

Cecily nodded, doing her best to hide her embarrassment in the act as she swallowed harshly in an eager attempt to keep the desire to vomit again at bay. 

His hands upon her shoulders, his concern for his wife turned to anger at Nellie’s careless actions. “I thought you said you just aimed to check on her—not move her! What were you doing!” Ethan demanded to know, his voice quivering in frustration at his wife being put in distress. 

Lindy flinched from the risen tone Ethan spared. Her knees moving close to her chest upon the ornate chair, she buried her nose within the hair of the doll wishing the yelling would cease. 

“She needs to be washed, Mr. Frye,” Nellie explained in her defense, hands motioning from her gown as she bent down to try and aid Cecily as well. “I thought perhaps a wash would do her good as it’s been weeks!” 

“For good reason!” retaliated Ethan aggressively, moving Cecily’s head to his chest in hopes she would find comfort there. “She can hardly move to her sides without so much as a need to lose her food as this! I would have thought you, as her midwife, would have known that and not put her in danger! What food she can manage to keep inside of her is best within her than on the floor—!” 

“Ethan, please…!” Cecily begged, hoping to stop the heated verbal exchange. “It was nobody’s fault.” She panted as though she had run miles, making her wish she were back upon the bed as her body threatened to remove more food from her stomach. 

“A bath would be wise, Mr. Frye,” Nellie continued in her defense. “It could remove further ideas of illness at the very least.” 

Ethan frowned still, his eyes glaring at Nellie as he didn’t approve of her methods. He could have put his wife in further danger. Opening his mouth to speak, Ethan did his best not to sound disagreeable, but the tone still lingered. “I will bathe her, Miss. Nellie,” he hissed lowly. “And I will feed her as well while you go and prepare dinner, please.” 

Nellie merely nodded, waving to her daughter to usher Lindy to her side. While she was Cecily’s midwife, she was still a guest within the household, and seeing as the guilt surrounding these turn of events was placed heavily upon her body, the woman acted without fault. 

Lindy took to her feet quickly, hurrying to her mother’s side to rush out the door and into the hallway where she witnessed her mother shut the door and leave the Fryes in peace, Nellie’s head low and her lips moved inward in regret. “He wasn’t happy,” Lindy whispered between the two of them, still not finding pleasure in Ethan’s risen tone. 

Attempting to smile, Nellie turned to her daughter and nodded. “Forget that now, dear,” whispered her mother, motioning down the hallway. “Let’s go see if Edith is in the kitchen.” 

Edith was Ethan’s mother and while the woman was calm and caring in regards to some situations, she was a bit firm and strict regarding other things. She had taken to the role of housemaid, it seemed, going from room to room to be sure everyone was up and about at a certain hour, tending to the laundry and aiding with the cooking as well when able. The woman never wore dresses, and Lindy found that odd, even with the times changing in regards to what women usually wore or should be seen wearing. For a woman in her mid forties, she was quite nimble and always alert. At the time, it never made much sense as to why she was, but now Lindy knew given the years she had been with the Fryes and married to their legacy—she was an Assassin. 

Lindy had spent a fair few hours of the day with Edith and had grown slightly comfortable around the woman, but she was still uncertain as to what things she could speak of and what things she could not. With dinner prepared in time, Lindy found herself staring at the rather awkward arch of a brooch Edith wore once more. She was often drawn to it as the ‘A’ was highly decorative and in such high quality, the young girl couldn’t help but admire. 

“Your brooch looks nice,” Lindy whispered from where she sat next to Edith at the dining table, disrupting the sound of utensils clacking as nobody had thought of something pleasant to say in terms of conversation. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Edith’s warm voice responded in return, motioning to Lindy’s plate then to try and make the girl focus on her dinner as Lindy was hardly eating at the pace Edith deemed satisfactory. 

Lindy did as she was mutely asked, but couldn’t help but stare all the same at the pin. “What does it mean? Who gave it to you?” 

George couldn’t help but look up then just as Nellie had, the sounds in the kitchen stalling for a moment as everyone was wondering how to deter the question. 

“My late husband gave it to me as a gift upon our wedding day,” Edith sighed in response, apparently a bit pained by the memory. In all respects, she was being honest but remaining as vague as possible after hearing what Ethan told her in regards to the midwife and her daughter. Edith dug into the meat that was there on her plate before sampling a bite and then having a bit of wine to wash the meal down a bit better as a way to stall her next answer. “As for what it means, it is just a symbol of our union.” Again, she was being honest. Edith knew she was marrying an Assassin and the moment she did so, she accepted the Creed as her own just as he had. 

Shame that the Creed had to be the very thing that did him in before his time. 

“Lindy, be quick now and eat your food, or it will spoil,” Nellie insisted, the whole room pausing yet again as movement could be heard just upstairs and soon, heavy footsteps could be heard traversing the staircase just beside the entrance of the dining room. 

Ethan had appeared, and in that moment he walked somberly to the dining room to greet his mother with a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t mind me,” Ethan whispered, his tone heavy and his face equally so with the remnants of what appeared to be tears. “I am just here to grab some food for Cecily.” 

“How does she fair, Mr. Frye?” Nellie reluctantly asked, stalling at the thought of taking a drink as her stomach knotted in worry. 

The Assassin sighed, shaking his head at Nellie’s question as he ventured to the kitchen. “Same as always,” he murmured brokenheartedly. 

Edith frowned in worry, excusing herself gracefully from the table and following behind her dejected son. “Ethan?” she whispered, closing the door behind her to be sure their words didn’t travel beyond the safety of those four walls. 

Ethan placed his hands upon the kitchen countertop, lowering his head and doing his best not to fall apart there for his mother to see. Hands to his face, he rid himself of any other remnants in regards to the sobbing he had been doing earlier. “I am fine, mum,” he lied horribly, grabbing a plate from one of the upper cupboards and a bowl as well before turning to the vegetable soup that was still there on the warm stove, freshly made. 

“You lie worse than a slumbering hound,” Edith expressed as a joke, hands folded before her as she tried not to wring them in worry. “It is merely us, son.” She ventured closer, touching upon Ethan’s shoulder to show he could stop pretending for a moment. “You know you can say as you need.” 

Ethan dropped the spoon back into the pot after he grabbed what he needed of the soup, chewing at his lower lip as it began to tremble. “I am not sure which is easier or better,” Ethan admitted painfully, turning away from his mother’s insistent gaze, “to have Cecily die upon the field nobly or to watch her die slowly by something I did to her.” 

“Ethan,” sighed his mother, the tone full of sorrow at his choice of words. 

He moved the bowl off to the side to make sure it remained warm but not so hot it would be unbearable for his sick wife to eat. “It’s supposed to be a precious time in our lives, and now God sees fit to mock me so…” 

“Son, you don’t even know if Cecily will die,” Edith reminded Ethan, grabbing at her son’s shoulders to urge his sights to her. 

“You don’t know that she will live,” retaliated Ethan brokenheartedly, his words nearly catching in his throat. His teary expression returned, and it was in that moment he shook his head painfully at the memories resurfacing in regards to how far his wife had fallen. “You’ve not been by her bedside as I have, mum…I just worry…this will be it for us…” He strained his smile, which was obviously forced. “My selfish desire to have a family may have very well caused the death of my wife and my child.” 

The corners of Edith’s lips turned downward, her brow wrinkled in dismay as she placed her hands upon Ethan’s cheeks only to have her son insist she not by urging her touch away. “You would give up so soon, son—on the woman you love and the child you claim you’ll care for and adore?” 

“She is due soon, mum, and Cecily has only gotten worse,” explained Ethan, his eyes closing as he tried to regain himself in a single breath. “Was it this hard for you when father passed on?” 

Edith’s somber frown turned into something a bit more unforgiving at her son’s choice of words. “Cecily is not dead yet, Ethan,” she reminded him, her hands clenched at her sides and her tone firm. “Now, you cease this moping of yours and go up there and love your wife as she draws breath beside you.” While she more than understood her son was grieving over Cecily’s illness during her pregnancy, Edith wouldn’t hear any such madness while her daughter-in-law was still very much alive. “If you require assistance, you know where to find us, but I’ll hear none of this talk now…you hear me?” 

Ethan cleared his throat, taking the bowl of warm soup and a bit of bread upon a plate with an understanding nod at his mother’s words. “Yes, ma’am.” 

She could tell Ethan wasn’t truly listening, and as he attempted to depart from the kitchen, Edith called out to him yet again. “Ethan—.” As she heard her son pause in his steps, Edith turned then and looked firmly to him yet again. “I mean it…spend every waking moment with her as you can. You will regret wallowing in this piteous state and not seeing the beauty of that woman being beside you now.” 

All the Assassin could do was nod as he took his leave of the kitchen, hurried past the dining area, and ventured back to Cecily’s side. It was hard to see her as this. They had known one another for only a little while—since he was sixteen or so—and now it seemed their happy ending would be cut so short and Cecily’s legacy would end. 

He damned the cursed thoughts…the thought of waking up without her there beside him and without opening his eyes to see his wife caring for their child. Ethan’s heart felt as though some Templar had stabbed him right in the chest, twisted the blade and let it rest. Was he ever going to see Cecily up and well again? She had been ill for so many months that it was beginning to weigh on his concerns for her wellbeing. 

Lindy turned to Edith when she returned to the dining room. The atmosphere had changed, and it began to unsettle the young girl once more. 

“Did Mr. Frye require assistance with his wife?” Nellie asked Edith curiously, her meal already finished and put off to the side. 

Edith raised her hand at the thought. “No, my dear,” her voice croaked with age, appearing heavier than before given the exchange in the kitchen. “I think it is wise you let Ethan or Cecily tell you when it is time for anything.” She sighed, grabbing at her own empty plate to be done with it. “I feel it is best we leave them be for this evening.” 

George casually looked to the nearby clock, wiping his mouth and being done with his own dinner as he took to his feet. “I have an errand to do, Miss. Frye,” explained the Assassin vaguely in regards to a mission the Council had sent to him days ago. “If there are any changes in development, you know where I’ll be.” 

“Across town, indeed, but I don’t think I am as young as I once was to fetch you, George,” reminded Edith in attempts to lighten the mood, not noticing that Lindy had escaped the dining hall at Nellie’s insistence the girl be ready for bed. 

“You are far more spry than myself,” George chortled, gently moving Lindy to the side so he could escape from the house. “But please, just keep me aware of what is going on.” 

Lindy stopped, as she always did, to stare down at the door that mocked her yet again. Ever since Edith had come into the household, however, the woman saw fit to lock the door, so being able to get in was nearly impossible; at least not until she got that key. 

Not that she would know the first place to look. Even when she was in Edith’s guest room, there wasn’t a single spot she hadn’t already touched upon to hunt for it just out of curiosity. Seemed now Lindy’s curiosity would never truly be sated and the secrets of that door would remain so. 

 

 

 

The night was restless and with the storm raging just beyond the household, it made sleep difficult for Lindy. The thunder shook the entire building as though the storm were right overhead, and in that instance, the girl slowly found her feet, scurrying to the chair to grab at her doll she kept at across the room. 

Another loud crack caused Lindy to bury her face within the doll’s chest, wishing the storm would cease, but she knew that wouldn’t happen anytime soon, and in that moment, she took to the door and left her bedroom to see if anybody else was perhaps awake because of it. 

Dead silent. 

Not a single thing stirred even behind the many doors within the house. Lindy found herself stopping by George’s room as well as she was venturing to the staircase, trying to see by the cracks of the doorframe if he had perhaps gotten home. Out of the two men in the house, he was the only one that truly made her comfortable. However, it was rude just to barge in, so Lindy withheld the desire, flinching again from another loud ‘boom’ that quaked the foundation of the building. 

How could adults sleep through such noise? Crawley was known for its wild weather, but in her years, Lindy hated the sound of thunder and the sight of lightning merely made her panic. Perhaps a glass of water would do her well? In that state of thought, she took to the staircase in the middle of the hallway and ventured down it. 

Soon, she was upon the bottom step and looking to fetch water from the kitchen but had stopped…yet again… 

That door…upon the next lightning flash, the intricate design of Ethan’s study illuminated and Lindy hadn’t thought to react. She didn’t have the key, but that didn’t stop her from going up to try and kneel down to peek underneath and see if she couldn’t at least get a clue as to what was on the other side. It was far too dark. Even upon the next flash of light, Lindy couldn’t make out much and the pacing of the lightning was too far in between to have her eyes make sense of anything. 

Sucking in her lip, she took back to her feet with her toy still cradled in the nook of her arm. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to, but she had the urge to try again and her hand landed successful on the doorknob of the study, and it actually turned without hesitation. 

Her green eyes wide, she let the mechanism in the door click as it slowly unlatched and she was able to push it open. 

The door moaned softly on its old hinges, parting to make way to what appeared to be a normal study as any other, only there was a bed there off to the side, several bookcases nearly upon every corner and a desk…a desk with oddities and trinkets she didn’t recognize as well as weapons of interesting sorts, and Ethan Frye sitting behind it with a gun pointed right at Lindy, making the girl freeze in her tracks.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dammit_ , thought Ethan with a heavy sigh as he pulled his gun back at ease realizing who it was that stood before him. He knew this was unavoidable. A child’s curiosity couldn’t be quelled so easily with merely a ‘do not do this’, and it was something he’d have to prepare for when he himself became a father. 

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Frye,” Lindy apologized, bringing her doll close to her chest as she didn’t expect to open the door to that sort of reaction. Had she really crossed the line so much to require a pistol to be pointed at her? 

Ethan put the gun flat upon his desk and motioned for Lindy to come inside. Keeping her away did little, perhaps telling her and showing her what was in the room would make her cease this? “I thought you were an intruder, love, so forgive me,” he sighed. “Come inside and shut the door behind you, please.” 

Lindy did as she was told without hesitation, eyes wandering about the room filled with oddities she didn’t recognize and books that appeared to be ancient in their years given the worn leather bindings to them. She stopped inches from the desk, looking down upon it and then back at Ethan with confusion as she didn’t recognize the gauntlet or the cane-sword and the daggers lined out on display. “Are you into weapon collecting…?” 

What should he tell her? He swore to Nellie he would keep her daughter from the knowledge of the Creed just for her safety. A lie would certainly have to be in order to keep Lindy from caring about the study further on during her living with him. “You could say that,” commented Ethan plainly as he took to the unsheathed cane-sword to make sure the glint of the blade hid out of sight and the weapon looked like an ordinary cane to the common eye. “I am a collector of sorts,” he continued, reclining back in his chair with his hands folded before his desk. “With these weapons and priceless artifacts in here, your mum wanted you to remain out, and I must admit, I did as well.” 

She felt silly for the previous thoughts of what could indeed be in this room now. It was nothing special, just a lot of intricately crafted items, old tomes, and weapons. 

“We didn’t want you to hurt yourself or break anything in here as everything in my study has a price that cannot be matched,” explained Ethan, jabbing his index finger on the woodwork of his desk to get his point across in hopes of keeping Lindy out in the future. “Selling your own home would hardly be able to replace some of these artifacts; so, my dear, I must insist that you remain out of here…am I clear?” 

“Yes, sir,” Lindy practically whispered, bringing the doll closer to her chest to calm the anxiousness that had risen in her chest. However, upon the next loud quake of thunder, she cringed with a bow of fear. 

The man’s hazel green eyes shifted up at the ceiling, which lately shook from the enormous sound bellowing overhead, before moving his sights back to the terrified child before him. “Is that it then?” Ethan asked, noticing her reaction to the storm raging outside. “You’re afraid of the storm?” 

Pulling her head from her doll’s hair, she nodded a bit. “I thought to get water to drink, and I just stopped here.” 

The chair scraped against the floor as Ethan took to his feet to escort Lindy out of his study to get the water and aid her back to bed. “Come with me then.” He held the door open, motioning for her to be on her way before shutting the entryway behind him with a stern look still situated upon his features. “Lindy,” Ethan began seriously, “remember what I said now.” The Assassin watched as the young child looked shyly away from him at his sentence. “Not a single word to your mum about this, and I want you to remain away from my study in the future—are we clear?” 

She saw what she needed to see, the curiosity was put to rest and it was there Lindy nodded. “I promise,” she swore once more, intending to keep that promise this time. All the same, while Ethan wasn’t nearly as furious as she thought he’d be about it, the guilt rose within her chest and threatened to strangle her from where she stood as she idly swayed with the uncomfortable desire to apologize. “I-I’m sorry for going in.” 

The girl was young and didn’t know any better. He knew he couldn’t hold that against her, nodding to Lindy’s apology. “The bright side of all of this is that nobody got hurt,” said Ethan as he pressed his palm against Lindy’s back to urge her forward, escorting her towards the kitchen. 

Lindy inwardly agreed, heading to the kitchen as she had originally planned. Staying near the doorway upon their arrival, she watched as Ethan made the drink for her that she had requested earlier. All the same, her mind wandered…wandering to the fate that awaited Cecily. “H-How is Mrs. Frye doing…?” she reluctantly asked, knowing the topic was probably touchy, but her own mother even insisted that sometimes people wish to talk over bottling up their emotions whether they say so or not. 

Ethan breathed inward in a harsh manner, his head lowered and his strength being put into his hands as he leaned on the counter top to prevent himself from falling apart at the simple, innocent question. “She’s fine, love,” his broken voice answered. The Assassin worked in desperation to get his emotions back to normal though finding it a challenge with the worry that lay ahead with the child within his wife due soon. “I am sure once she has this baby she will be…just… _fine_.” 

The sound of the water dripping from the faucet was deafening as was the rumbling of the liquid in the old pipes about the house. Her fingers fondling the hair of her doll, Lindy did everything she could not to press the subject further. She was young, but she wasn’t naive as to how hurt Ethan was when it came to the subject of his wife. 

“Here,” he sighed, turning to her to hand the glass of water to the young girl. “Now, it’s late—let’s get you to bed.” 

His demeanor was different than before. Whereas earlier he seemed focused on something and a bit displeased by Lindy’s presence in his study, it faltered to that of sorrow and a need for release. Men were usually nervous when it came to their wives giving birth, but Lindy had never seen a man appear so broken before…as if knowing that he would lose something come the birth of his child. 

**{…You must be tired of me prattling on of the bloody past by now, Lindy, but that’s where my heart mostly resides as of late. I still think of my father (much to my own dismay) and I still wish to remember my mum and what she looked like…  
**

**Was it in those moments somewhere in my youth that I made my future crumble before my very eyes, perhaps? Dare I put blame upon my father once more in how much of a dreadful parenting and loving figure he was to me? No…you would scold me when you found the chance, I am sure.  
**

**All of that by now is but a mere blur, if I am to be honest when it comes to my old age. The face I remembered looking up at when I was first born was yours even as I prepare myself to turn forty-one this year…  
**

**You, out of anybody in my family were the only one to hold me with want and loving devotion. Seems that day of my birth, we both became broken and lost souls wandering in a tainted, blight filled mess of jolly ol’ Crawley town…}**

**{Crawley | November, 9, 1847}**

 

She was in pain…the worst pain Cecily had ever had to endure. Even being shot in the shoulder was far more pleasant than the sudden ache of labor that late night. Her fingers curled in discontentment upon the covers, sweat beading her forehead as she didn’t wish to think it true—that she was indeed about to give birth given how weak she felt. 

_If I say nothing, then this will merely be worse for me_ , Cecily thought to herself, reluctantly turning to look upon her husband who had fallen asleep on the loveseat there in their bedroom. He had finally found rest after so many restless days and nights, looking so peaceful in the moonlight. It made the fellow Assassin resist the urge to wake him till she realized these contractions were getting a bit more frequent as time passed. 

“E-Ethan…!” Cecily weakly called from the bed not far from where he rested, falling on her palms as she twisted her body to try and face her husband’s. 

His arms were crossed upon his chest, he in a lazy upright position to show Ethan was to attention once before exhaustion overtook him. Ethan’s snoring continued, the man had been pacing restlessly hours before, and now that it was nearly two in the morning on the ninth of November, he soon found rest there on the sofa with almost nothing to rouse him. 

Cecily flinched, doing her best not to scream out in dismay at the contraction that struck her cruelly. Hunching over, she gasped out her displeasure realizing that pain was a lot more dominate and unforgiving than the last. “E-Ethan!” she cried out once more, hoping for his attention this time. 

The snoring started to slow, coming to halt when the voice of his wife began to register through his heavy rest. Moving his hands to his eyes, Ethan did away with the sleep as his mind and body tried to make sense of who was calling him and what was happening around him. “Cecily…?” he whispered in confusion until his eyes focused and saw her struggling there on the bed. “Cecily!” Ethan exclaimed, nearly falling to his hands and knees as he realized his wife was in distress. 

With her husband soon beside her, she leaned on him for support with what meager strength she had. “G-Go fetch Miss. Nellie…! Please!” she pleaded, closing her eyes to her husband’s palm upon her forehead as Ethan worried her to be horribly ill. 

“Lie down,” Ethan instructed, moving his wife to the covers of the bed. He hated to leave her being in such pain, but Ethan knew if he didn’t get the midwife, things would be worse off for the woman he loved, causing him to tear quickly from the room and hurry to Nellie’s bedroom door. “Nellie!” he called frantically, not caring if he woke the house. 

Nellie could hardly say she herself was asleep as she was expecting the child to be due any day now. Hearing the banging on her door, she tore the covers from her body and hurried to Ethan, cracking the door open a bit to look at him with a knowing glance. “Is it time?” she asked, fingers curling nervously upon the door frame as Cecily was hardly well enough to stand let alone go into labor. 

Hearing the ruckus from down the hall caused George and Ethan’s mother, Edith, to open their doors and peer into the hallway to find out what was going on by ear. 

“Yes! Please, hurry!” Ethan begged, turning away quickly and hurrying back to his wife’s side while bypassing his friend and mother. 

Edith didn’t bother changing out of her nightgown, rushing behind her son frantically as George did the same. 

Lindy was asleep when all of the commotion was going on; however, upon the feverish knock of Ethan and the shouting that bellowed about the hallway, the young girl found her feet and tiptoed out of bed to peek outside to see what was going on. She was only able to see her mother soon surface again to hurry with her belongings to Cecily’s room in a panic stricken stride. 

Was this it? Was Cecily in labor? Normally, Lindy was asked to stay out of these situations, but being as young and curious as she was, she couldn’t help but run down to the bedroom door belonging to the Fryes where the screams of pain began to escalate. 

“Do you have anything to make the pain lessen?” Ethan asked, holding onto his wife’s hand to give her support. 

Nellie sighed in worry as she did have leeches to help with elevating the pain, but the mother to be hardly had the energy to move, so she dared not risk it. “Bloodletting is all I could manage, Mr. Frye,” she reminded him, looking through her belongings to be sure of what she had on her. “The anesthesia that’s going around lately, I’ve not had a chance to purchase or get my hands on given how new it is.” 

Cecily screamed, clenching her hand tightly upon her husband as she was moved to her side with her knees slightly tucked inward to make the situation a bit less embarrassing for everyone as she would have to be exposed soon. 

Flinching at the pain Cecily was going through, Nellie pointed at George. “Normally, I would ask you chaps to be gone from here while I handle this, but I require your help!” 

Ethan scoffed at that thought. “I wouldn’t leave even if you demanded it,” the Assassin insisted as he knelt before the bed to become even in face to his wife, his hand to her brown hair as he kept the strands from sticking to her face dewed with sweat. 

Nellie ignored Ethan’s comment, motioning to George again. “I need you to grab water for me, buckets of it at least as I’ll require it for many things.” 

“I’ll see what I can do, Miss. Nellie,” said George, hurrying towards the bedroom door where Lindy was watching in silence. 

Lindy quickly moved from the doorway to allow George to hurry past. Hiding out of his sight within the night shrouded hallway, she looked back into the room once more given all of the horrific sounds and words being exchanged. The way Cecily would scream in pain, Lindy couldn’t help but bite at her lower lip in fear. Was having a baby that awful? She sounded like she was being tortured… 

She had never truly been in a room before with such things happening, but Lindy couldn’t help but force herself to move forward as a morbid sense of curiosity overwhelmed her. 

“You’re going to be alright, Cecily,” Ethan insisted, bringing her hand to his lips where he kissed her reassuringly hoping that perhaps that gesture alone would be enough to sooth her pains. 

Cecily’s voice trembled as she quivered from another contraction striking her. “R-Remember that time where…I was shot…in the bloody shoulder when I w-was s-sixteen, and I was on a m-mission with you?” she stammered, swallowing harshly as her throat was beginning to feel dry and the air she breathed merely harmed her further. “By God that pain was nothing c-compared to this…!” 

Ethan looked up at Nellie to notice the woman motioning to him as if to keep encouraging the conversation while she moved the gown out of the way to see how far the baby had come. The Assassin laughed at the memory, bringing her hand back close to him from where he was kneeling before the bedside. “I remember,” he said in a gentle tone. “You got that wound by trying to protect some children that were in the way of our mission.” A smile upon his lips, he moved his palm again to her head to try and sooth his wife. Cecily’s hand tightened tiredly upon her husband’s, causing Ethan to affectionately respond with a light squeeze in return. “A young woman who stood her ground and protected the innocent no matter the cost of her life…” He stifled a chuckle at the thought given all things to consider. “I always knew that would make you a perfect mum to my children and a wife to me.” 

“Lindy!” Edith scolded in a hushed tone, hurrying towards the child. “You shouldn’t be in here, child!” 

Frozen in her tracks, Lindy opened her mouth to speak in her defense, but she was rendered motionless as everything that was happening was too numbing to even find the ability to avoid Edith’s hands, which grabbed upon her own. 

“Don’t worry of that for now, Miss. Frye,” Nellie insisted, wishing to shoo her own daughter out of the room as well, but she needed all of the help she could get. “Please, come here and help me with keeping Cecily’s legs apart, as I may require another position for this to work given how weak she is!” 

Normally, the pregnant woman expecting (especially around men or a male doctor) would lie on their side with their legs up to their stomach to save themselves from embarrassment, but given the severity of the situation, Nellie needed Cecily to sit upright with her legs apart at least. 

“What do you need me to do?” Edith asked, releasing Lindy and hurrying back to the bedside, hand to the wooden banister to oversee the situation. 

“Keep her legs apart for me, and when George gets back, I’ll have him usher her in an upright position so Mr. Frye can keep attention to his wife,” explained the midwife. 

George soon returned, urging his way past Lindy with a gentle ‘excuse me’ in passing and placing the bucket of water down near the bed. “What do you need it for? Tell me, and I can help,” insisted the fellow Assassin with urgency. 

Nellie grabbed a clean dish from her tray nearby and offered it to George. “Put the cold water in that—some of it, anyways—and give it and the clean dishtowel to Ethan, so he can keep Cecily cooled.” 

Lindy moved out of the way of what was happening, taking to the chair she used to sit on whenever she would venture into the bedroom to let her mother check in on Cecily during her pregnancy. Knees to her chest, she flinched every time Cecily screamed horribly from the pain gnawing at her body for the hours to come. 

Shouting…so much shouting and panic in the air that it drove Lindy’s heart to race in worry of how the day would even begin. Would the sun rise with this over, or would Cecily still be in labor? It had been two hours from what Lindy noticed on the nearby clock, and not much had changed given how weak the woman was in trying to push out this baby.

“It’s nearly out, Mrs. Frye!” Nellie encouraged, causing Ethan to stand to attention as he kept a firm grip on his wife’s hand urging her that she could do it. “One more push, and the baby will be out of you!” 

Cecily’s body was damp with sweat. With how little she had been able to eat and with the pain draining her for hours, she was losing herself in the moment and struggling to stay awake. One more push, however, she could do. Focusing all of her remaining strength into that last burst of power to get the baby out of her, Cecily felt relief wash over her when the child fell into Nellie’s hands. 

“You did it,” Ethan sighed in relief, moving the wet cloth over his wife’s forehead to be sure to keep her relaxed at this point. The cries of the baby soon echoing within the room, he turned his attention to the infant Nellie cradled within her embrace as she worked on trying to clean it with the water and clean towels she had beside her. “Well? Is the baby okay? What is it?” the father asked eagerly. 

“A little girl, Mr. Frye,” Nellie answered with a relieved breath herself at knowing the baby was okay as was Cecily from what she could tell. 

However, before anybody could celebrate the idea of their daughter’s birth, Cecily cried out in pain yet again as though the contractions wouldn’t stop. “Wh-What’s happening…!” she whimpered in dismay, leaning against George who remained behind her to keep her in an upright position. 

“Another…?” Nellie questioned, offering the young child to Edith to hold after the cord was cut. 

“There is another…!” Cecily gasped, nearly losing the strength to even bother with the thought of pushing further. She wanted to just stop the very idea and lie there to rest. Her energy was gone, she felt weaker than normal and her eyes were heavier than ever before. “I can’t…I can’t…!” Her voice was but a hushed whisper by this point as she trembled with the thought of going onward. 

“Cecily, listen to me,” Ethan began quietly, bringing her hand back to his lips to kiss her there, noticing how cold and balmy it felt upon his touch. “Just one more…One more, and this will be over!” 

Nellie could tell how weary Cecily was, and while the two of them conversed, she worked on trying to urge the child out herself as the head was already at the position _. I’ve got to get you out quickly_ , she thought to herself, the midwife’s fingers sliding in best they were able within Cecily to motion the child onward only to have little luck, causing Nellie to shift to pushing on Cecily’s stomach to see if that would do some good. 

“You have to try!” Ethan pleaded, noticing the color in his wife’s features fading just at having to try and get their daughter out. “Please, for me!” He wanted this over. He wanted his wife to be in better spirits, to recover as he tended to their children for a month while she rested off the hell she had been through for several months. 

“Twins,” Edith gasped as she held onto her granddaughter. “I guess it makes sense with how big she seemed. I thought the size of her was abnormal even for a pregnant woman.” 

“As did I,” commented Nellie, able to see the head and shoulders of the next baby finally much to her relief. “But twins are hard to detect, Miss. Frye. I’m trying to see if I cannot push it out myself with how tired the mum is.” 

“How much longer? Is any of that rubbish working!” George exclaimed feeling how limp and near lifeless Cecily was becoming against him. He didn’t want to admit that he worried Cecily would indeed take her last breath there before him, but his mentor was looking to be rather sickly and not her best. Propping her up against his chest time and time again as she’d slip was like trying to prop up a dead person. 

“She’s almost out,” Nellie insisted, expecting the other twin to be a female as well given the few occurrences she had with twin births. However, the last one was being stubborn. It was hard to usher the infant out of the mother’s womb, and much to Nellie’s relief, it wasn’t because of an umbilical cord wrapped about its neck. “Cecily—can you please give me one more push? I need your help in this.” 

Lindy wasn’t sure what was worse watching all of this, the screaming of pain from hours earlier or the fact the screams were getting weaker from Cecily, as though she had no more energy to spare in the act. 

Cecily didn’t even hear her name till Ethan started shouting at her and shaking her awake. Inhaling sharply, her hazel eyes shot open as she looked about in a panic. Lower lip trembling, she struggled to even acknowledge the midwife let alone her husband. Her fingers curling weakly upon Ethan’s hold, she put what remaining energy she had into one final push… 

“There!” Nellie expressed in relief, grabbing at the twin that fell into her hands and doing her best to clean it up. “A boy,” she murmured in surprise, never having seen fraternal twins as this. 

Ethan expressed his breathless delight in the idea, turning to his wife with a kiss to her pale cheek damp with perspiration. “A boy and a girl! We have our Evie,” he said warmly in excitement to his weary wife. 

“And our Jacob,” Cecily murmured, her eyes turning to the twins that were there at the foot of the bed being held by their grandmother and the other by the midwife. But in the moment, Cecily knew her heart was beating slower and her energy was leaving her just as quickly as her last few breaths were. It was becoming harder to stay awake and even harder to find the ability to draw breath in that room. Tears brimming her eyes in a mixture of emotions, she opened her mouth to speak, but she knew she had to be brief. “Watch over them for me,” she pleaded to Ethan, not having the courage to look him in the eyes, instead looking upon the legacy she would leave behind. 

“What are you talking about, love?” Ethan asked, not wishing to think these were indeed her final words to him as he urged Cecily to gaze at him, fingers to her cheek to insist on the idea. 

Her lower lip trembled, hating to face her husband as she felt like such a disappointment in being able to bear a shoulder wound but not birthing his children. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, gasping out those words as her eyes fluttered in desperation to stay awake so she could take Ethan’s vision with her to her grave. “I…I love you…” 

Cecily’s eyes closed, her head reclined back against George without much strength behind it, her body rigid, and her hand fell from her husband’s hold as she had no longer the vigor to continue drawing breath. 

George felt it first better than anybody, and as he felt Cecily’s body grow heavy and lifeless against his chest, he closed his eyes to fight back the tears of realization that his mentor had fallen. 

“C-Cecily?” Ethan gasped, not wishing it to be true as he moved some stray pieces of her hair from her face to get a better look at her, but in doing so, he noticed no air passed by her mouth or even her nostrils. Her chest lay still, heart slowing to a halt as it had no reason to continue beating. “No, no, no, this cannot be happening!” 

Nellie knew this was never good. Husbands could get irrational and lash out in such moments, and she had a child on her hands. Looking around feverishly, she motioned to her daughter. “Lindy, come here!” 

With how emotional Ethan had become, Lindy almost was reluctant to move till her mother ordered her over towards the bedside. Taking to her bare feet, she hurried towards her with a confused and fretful expression. “Yes, mum?” 

“Take him,” Nellie insisted, kneeling down before Lindy to offer the sobbing baby swaddled in warm blankets after he had been cleaned a bit. “I need to help Mr. Frye.” 

The young girl hesitated, looking at the baby as she knew it would be different from just holding her lifeless doll. 

“You know how, right?” Nellie asked her daughter, moving to where she could instruct Lindy without much waste of time. “Just like that, and go sit over there, please.” She motioned back over against the wall, wanting to be sure the children would be safe and alright as she took to her feet again and hurried to Ethan’s side. “Mr. Frye…I’m afraid she’s—.” 

“She is not dead!” Ethan yelled, interrupting the very thought from passing by Nellie’s lips. He turned tearfully back to his wife, his mother watching the scene with her hand to her mouth to stop her lips from quivering as she kept a hold on Evie. “Cecily, please! Wake up!” he pleaded, shaking her body only to have her move limply at his command. “ ** _WAKE UP! You can’t leave me like this!_** ” 

Lindy’s heart tensed at the scene as she kept the weeping babe close to her chest. Her green eyes drifted down to the boy with a furrow of her brow. _I don’t want to be a mum…I don’t want to fall in love ever…!_ Lindy thought frantically, scared to be pregnant and ever give birth and die right after. 

**{You told me time and time again the reason you resigned yourself to being a maid, a nanny, a servant girl, and even a factory worker with little care for the lads who perused you was because of the fear of becoming like my mum…dying after giving birth and being in the worst pain of your life before, leaving your husband and loved ones behind.  
**

**But I was selfish…as always…  
**

**Did you realize, the babe you held, would be the one to make you face your fears nearly against your will, because he was too stubborn to let you go…too stubborn to live in this world without your love…?}**


End file.
